o, brave new world
by rosere
Summary: She was adorned with a gift that embellished her in scars and cloying bruises. They did not fade, they were perfectly imperceptible, and sent palpitations of anguish down her spine. It was the gift of rebellion, and although she attempted to abstain from evil behaviors, she was seized by the hands of a new age. All she craved was to, somehow, change the world in which she resided,


Burning lights of the expansive city shone like stars upon the dawn of a new era. It was in these times, these precious moments, that life boasted of a becoming quality. Somehow, in the isolated state of being of which she resided, her mind was a sonority for hope and optimistic nature. This was a rare occurrence, residing in a city built upon the despair of its inhabitants.

She was adorned with a gift that embellished her in scars and cloying bruises. They did not fade, they were perfectly imperceptible, and sent palpitations of anguish down her spine. It was the gift of rebellion, and although she attempted to abstain from evil behaviors, she was seized by the hands of a new age. All she craved was to, somehow, change the world in which she resided, against all odds. Through her music, through projecting her vocals, through the prospect of an upcoming universe, rebellion was embedded into nerves of titanium.

Almost instinctively, her fingers froze, as though her puppeteer ceased movement of her limbs, and the melody of which she was performing melted into oblivion. A blank expression was painted delicately upon her features, and it took the myriads of confused faces to seize her from her break from reality. It was unusual for Ibuki Mioda, a well-known musician and songwriter, as well as a waitress of the local grill and bar down the avenue, to suddenly end a performance on account of nothing. Yet, intuition, in a brutal fashion, pleaded for her halt her song; the notes and chords were too devious to bear.

"Ibuki..." a voice filled the chilling air. "What's wrong?"

Ibuki shook her head with false encouragement and placed her fingers gently upon the strings of her guitar. As though it was pure second nature, she began playing her tune again, the notes almost kissing the frozen air with pulses of pure warmth. Everyone in the audience shed their worries upon hearing her music coat the world in a blessing.

Music, in itself, was a blessing upon a desperate city, ever since its prohibition sent many spiraling into a deep depression. Ibuki was, by the simplest terms, the most hindered by its ban, and was driven to perform by any means. Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew that her music was an illegal substance, and she fretted her immediate capture, similar to the current evening.

Once she finished her piece, time was at a standstill, or so it seemed. She was yearning to perform her more accomplished number, and its power struck with bullet-like intensity. Not one soul dared to utter a single breath, a whisper. Clocks ticked on, and one could feel the tension rise to skyscrapers upon their meager existences. Ibuki took a moment to allow the electricity to seep into skulls prior to lifting herself up, bowing, and exiting the scene.

Business was atrociously lethargic at Teruteru's on Mondays, and if that is so, then Ibuki is especially lethargic herself. She found herself toying about with her hair, twirling multicolored locks and lacing them through delicate fingers.

It was on these exact days that she pondered her lifetime, trapped inside of a city whose walls can neither be hindered nor destroyed by the means of its captors. Restrictions stand high and mighty upon a dense population and neither she nor the rest of her peers can combat the reign of despair. A king so defiant, so gracefully brutal, always had the upper hand.

"Mioda!"

Ibuki turned only to be shockingly, albeit curtly, greeted by her diminutive superior Teruteru Hanamura himself. He wiped beads of perspiration trickling down his features with a dirtied apron, and impatiently crossed his arms as though he were expecting some form of apology.

"I-Ibuki's sorry, sir," Ibuki stammered, attempting with all she could muster to compose and present herself as a diligent employee. This was not the first time Teruteru had caught her in the midst of simpleton daydreams, or so he described her thoughts of rebellion, but he was typically never this upset. His face was contorted in contempt, and with steps of anger progressing towards Ibuki, he managed to tiptoe himself to Ibuki's height and glare at her with deep indignation.

"Just because Mondays are typically slow does not mean you don't work. Make yourself useful and sweep the floors."

With a hastened pace, her boss made his approach towards the kitchen, where he rightfully lurked. Ibuki, in turn, rummaged through the closet in search of a broom.

This job, although providing a living she would otherwise not receive, made her gut lurch in sorrow. If she were to be granted two wishes, they would be to spark the embers of rebellion and muster the courage to quit her job. Yet, in the machinations of her mind, she knew that her livelihood relied on the labor she slaved day in and day out.

With graceful strokes, as though she was painting a masterpiece of the highest standard, she gently swept the floorboards as though she was their master.

A long time ago, she was once a member of the organization dedicated to pure despair, or so the story goes. She was never quite certain how she was once a member of a group that feasted upon the despair of humankind, as though they were leeches that were preying on weakened lifeforms, but she was positive that, against all odds, she would bring the organization to ashes.

Once again, captured by fingers of deep thought, Ibuki did not free herself from her distant universe until she heard the piercing ringing of bells reverberating in her skull. She was paranoid for an instant until she realized that the noise was the bell on the door that signified a customer.

"Hey, welcome to Teruteru's, how many do we-"

She froze once she seized a glimpse of the woman in front of her.

She was a delicate frame draped in skin of ivory silk, whose curves were irresistible upon first sight. She was graced with rose eyes and rubicund blush as though it were airbrushed onto her skin. Her long, flowing locks were amethyst in pigment, and she was dressed in a student nurse's outfit. Ibuki could not remove her eyes from the visual of who was, without a single doubt, the most beautiful woman she had ever laid vision upon.

"U-Um..." The woman stammered, clutching at her jacket. "J-Just one, please..."

Her flushed blush was more apparent than ever upon spewing the words from her lips, and she, somehow instinctively, covered her lips with her dainty hands.

"I-I'm sorry! You probably knew that, didn't you? I-I didn't mean to..."

As soon as she finished her sentence, tears began rushing down her cheeks; diamonds falling to her chin, plummeting, and shattering upon the floor like glass.

Ibuki rushed over to her and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. "Don't worry. You have nothing to apologize for, everything will be okay."

The woman gazed into Ibuki's eyes, and snatched her hands suddenly.

"Y-You're too kind. I'm so sorry for suddenly bursting into hysterics. I-It's just..."

Ibuki shook her head. "Say no more, Ibuki accepts your apology."

The woman cocked her head and analyzed Ibuki from head to toe. "Y-You...look oddly familiar. H-Have we met...?"

Ibuki's eyes widened upon the stranger sputtering the words. She had hoped she was only a vague memory of a passerby on the street rather than an illegal musician in alleyways.

"Um..."

"Y-You know, I might be thinking of someone else. I'm sorry, again."

Ibuki released the breath she had been holding captive for that moment. She wondered what triggered that unexpected recognition from the woman, but nevertheless, it probably did not matter. Somehow, in an absurd fashion, this woman piqued Ibuki's interests, and she was aching, yearning, to learn even more about her in such a minor slot of time.

"Anyway, table for one?"


End file.
